THE WEDDING.
July was almost over and it seemed but yesterday since we had come to
the Beach and taken possession of Mrs. Rand's cottage and made
preparations for the continuous house-party. So many pleasures and
excitements had been crowded into that month that really might have been
spread over six months and still not have been stupid! It seems a pity
that pleasant happenings make time pass quickly and sad and boresome
things make it drag. How much better if it could only be the other way.
I know Miss Cox felt that the month had gone very quickly and would have
been glad of a few more weeks to give to preparations for matrimony, but
Mr. Robert Gordon had got the bit between his teeth and there was no
holding him in.
"Haven't I been waiting for years and years? Isn't my hair white with
waiting?" he would say, shaking his exceedingly becoming, iron-grey
locks.
We girls privately thought that he might have spunked up a little sooner
instead of spending all those weary years in growing grey, no matter how
becoming it had proven to be; but Zebedee told me he rather felt that
Miss Cox and Mr. Gordon were more suited to each other than they had
been in their youth. The years of separation had taught them a lesson
they might never have learned together: how to control their tempers and
bridle their tongues.
I have never seen a couple who seemed to be in greater accord and
harmony. It was a harmony of the soul and one that would last through
eternity, not just a superficial agreement caused by the "glamor of the
amour." Perhaps Zebedee was right and their happiness was more certain
now that suffering and experience had instilled in their hearts the
wisdom of moderation and self-control.
It was to be a very quiet wedding at old St. Paul's in Norfolk, but we
girls were in a state of excitement that made Miss Cox appear calm in
contrast. The boys from the camp were invited and a half dozen of Mr.
Gordon's most intimate friends.
Miss Cox was singularly alone in the world except for some very dear
friends who were not getatable. Mr. Gordon's mother was dead and his
sister married and living in California, so we were, after all, the
nearest thing to a family they could scrape up. The groom wanted Zebedee
for his best man but Miss Cox had to have him to give her away and a
next best man must needs be chosen.
Blanche, of course, had to be included in the wedding party, and it was
with a great deal of finesse that we persuaded her not to wear the
fearful and wonderful costume she had arrived in. Zebedee solved the
problem of how to do it by presenting her with a very large new black
mohair skirt and a plain, tailored linen shirt waist and a black sailor
hat.
"If poor, dear Blanche has a hankering for her gorgeous finery, tell her
that she must wear this sober costume to please me. I know she would not
hurt my feelings for anything. Also tell her that it would be perfectly
_au fait_ for her to go to this gay function after the recent
bereavement in her family, the untimely death of the brother's baby,
provided she is suitably attired. There is a new white apron, too," said
Zebedee, handing the box to Dum.
"For goodness' sake, don't ask me to do it!" exclaimed Dum. "Dee is the
diplomat and is fully capable of soft-soaping Blanche into thinking that
her striped skirt and purple waist are too fine to wear to a mere
wedding but must be saved for funerals. I'd do it all wrong and make a
mess of it." So Dee consented to be the fashion dictator to the cook if
I would go with her and uphold her in her arguments.
"Well, now the generositiness of my employerer is well nigh
asphyxiating!" cried the girl. "I have always heard a simplifaction of
costumery was the quintillion of excellency. But would it not be more
respectful like to Miss Cox if we female maidens adorned of ourselves in
more gorgeous affectations?"
"Oh, no! Not at all!" declared Dee quickly. "You see--you see--Miss Cox
is going to wear a very simple gown herself--just a traveling
dress--and it would not be fair for any of us to dress too finely
and--and--attract attention to ourselves when all eyes should be drawn
to the bride."
This was a knock-down argument and with a sigh Blanche put away her
finery. Donning the plain and appropriate clothes Zebedee had purchased,
she made herself ready for what she designated as "the wedding corsage."
I had been to very few weddings, as I believe I have said before. Our
part of the country was like the Hereafter in that the inhabitants
neither married nor gave in marriage, being composed chiefly of
bachelors and old maids, with a sprinkling of widowers and widows who
seemed to have found once enough. This wedding was even more exciting to
me than my first hop. All of us were nervous except Miss Cox, who was
singularly composed. Blanche forgot to put any salt in the batter bread
that morning, and Dum came down to breakfast in odd stockings, one black
and one tan. As for Zebedee, anyone would think it was his own wedding,
he was so upset.
"I don't see why they don't have undertakers for weddings as well as
funerals," he exclaimed. "Someone to take all the responsibility and not
leave the matter to amateurs! Here I am scared to death for fear the
sexton won't remember to open the church in time; that the preacher
won't come; that I might lose the ring--by Jove! I have lost it! I told
Bob to keep it himself!" and he slapped his pockets frantically and
began to turn them inside out. Of course it was in the particular place
it should have been, safe in his pocket book; but I know I saw him at
least a dozen times go through exactly the same search during the
morning, his eyes big with fright and his hands trembling.
I don't know what there is about a wedding to make the masculine gender
so panic-stricken, but I am told that there never was a man living who
could go through a ceremony (whether it be his own or another's) without
showing the white feather. Maybe Brigham Young and Solomon got so used
to it they could at least assume composure, but I have my doubts about
even those much-married gentlemen.
The trolley was not considered good enough by Mr. Gordon and Zebedee for
the wedding party, so we were conveyed to Norfolk in automobiles; and in
spite of our host's lugubrious prognostications that we were going to be
very late and the preacher would be gone, we arrived many minutes before
we were due.
There were a few persons in the church attracted by curiosity and the
rumour of a wedding, and Mr. Gordon was waiting for us with his next
best man, who had just arrived from South Carolina.
"Gee whiz, I'm glad to see that man!" breathed Zebedee, looking as
though a great weight had fallen from him. "Now he can take charge of
this confounded ring. This is not in my jurisdiction, anyhow. Whoever
heard of the father of the bride having to take care of the ring?" Then
he began his usual search for the offending little circlet of gold,
crying nervously: "I've lost it! I've lost it this time for sure!" But I
reminded him of the pocket book and with a relieved sigh he handed the
ring over to the next best man, who assumed the expression of Hercules
when Atlas got him to hold the world for a while.
As the bells rang out high noon, we seated ourselves sedately in the
front pews. The minister took his stand in the pulpit and the organ
pealed forth the wedding march. A little stir in the back and an almost
inaudible titter from the strangers who were scattered about the church,
caused us to turn to see what was going on, and who should be marching
up the aisle, the observed of all observers, but poor, dear Blanche,
heading the "wedding corsage"! Only a few yards behind her was Miss Cox
on the arm of Zebedee. It was awfully funny, but we were too taken up
with the serious matter in hand to know how funny it was until
afterwards. "Thank goodness, she hasn't got on her 'costumery'!"
whispered Dee.
Mr. Gordon was standing at the altar waiting for his bride, and the best
man produced the ring at the proper time without much fumbling. Zebedee
gave the bride away with an air of great generosity and then wept
shamelessly as was his habit. Miss Cox kept her composure even until
she was Mrs. Robert Gordon. The groom shook like an aspen leaf but
managed to make his responses in a loud, determined voice.
Over at last, the knot safely tied and Miss Jane Cox no more! By a word
from the minister she had been miraculously turned into Mrs. Gordon. She
looked very happy as she came down the aisle on the arm of her beaming
husband, who had stopped trembling and had begun to prance, at least
that is what Dee declared he was doing. Zebedee had stopped weeping and
was now in a broad grin, and the next best man was evidently overjoyed
to have shifted the burden of the ring to the rightful owner.
How pretty the table was in the private room at the Montecello Hotel
where Zebedee gave the wedding breakfast! We all suddenly discovered we
had eaten next to no breakfast, and now did our best to make up for lost
time. There never were such brisk and attentive and omnipresent waiters
anywhere before, I am sure. In addition, now and then we could see the
delighted countenance of Blanche, peeping in from an adjoining room
where she had assumed the office of ladies' maid to help us off with
our imaginary wraps. She felt that at last she was moving in high
society and I think bitterly regretted the tabooed finery, especially
when she saw the gleaming shirt fronts and Tuxedos of the waiters.
The breakfast was perfect. Had not Tweedles and I spent days going over
the menu to be sure we forgot nothing and had everything we should and
nothing we shouldn't? Dum came very near spoiling the whole effect
because she insisted upon having cakes and molasses.
"You know Zebedee and I like them better than anything and always order
them when we eat at hotels. I can't see that it would not be perfectly
appropriate. The Montecello hotel would not have them on its menu if it
wasn't elegant," she declared as we pored over the printed bill of fare
that Zebedee had brought to Willoughby several days before the wedding.
"But, Dum," we explained, "this is not a real breakfast, just a wedding
breakfast. It is to be luncheon instead of breakfast."
"All right then, let's have pan-cakes instead of plain cakes! They have
those on the luncheon menu."
It took much persuading and arguing to convince Dum that even pan-cakes
would not do at a wedding breakfast. I thought once she and Dee would
have to resort to trial by combat, a measure they had not had to employ
for a long time. They still practiced with the boxing gloves but had not
put them on to settle disputes for many a month. They finally appealed
to Zebedee, who confessed himself to be no Ladies' Home Advisor as to
the proper food to be eaten on such occasions, but said:
"What does Page think?"
"Well, I think that there is nothing in the world better than plain
cakes and molasses except maybe pan-cakes and syrup, but somehow it does
not seem to me to be very romantic eating for a wedding breakfast."
"The ultimatum is delivered," laughed Zebedee. "If you must have
pan-cakes, Dum, for a wedding breakfast you will have to wait until you
get a bridegroom of your own,--and I hope that will be many a day,
honey."
"All right, if you are all against me," sighed Dum, "I'll give in; but I
can't see that broiled chicken and English peas are any more romantic
than cakes and molasses,--not as much so, in fact. What could be more
romantic than a nice passionate hot cake all smothered in sweet, sticky,
loving molasses?"
What we did agree to have was canteloupe, then filet de sole with Parker
House rolls, then broiled chicken and peas with pop-overs, a fruit salad
with mayonnaise, and last but not least, a great cake with all of the
things baked in it that are usual to wedding cakes, and wonderful ice
cream in molds appropriate for the occasion.
If anyone felt like kicking, his or her feelings were carefully
concealed. Even the bride and groom ate, and as for the boys from the
camp,--you would suppose they had been living on hard tack from the way
they devoured that wedding breakfast.
Just before the cake was to be cut, the head waiter himself came in, a
broad grin on his good-natured countenance and in his hands a great tray
laden with orders of hot pan-cakes, a surprise and joke of Zebedee's.
It wasn't such a joke, after all, as every last one of those steaming
cakes disappeared as if by magic. One would have thought that the guests
had had enough, more than enough, in fact, but as Sleepy said, no doubt
voicing the sentiment of the crowd:
"When there is no room in me for pan-cakes, then you fellows had better
get ready for a funeral. It would be a sure indication of the last
stages of a wasting disease."
"Consumption!" suggested Wink. "Consumption of food!"
Zebedee told me he had ordered the cakes because he hated to see Dum
disappointed; and then, too, he had a terrible fear that she might get
married some time just so she could have pan-cakes at a wedding
breakfast.
"I want to keep my girls with me as long as I can, and certainly don't
want one of them to marry for the sake of a hot cake. Dum is fully
capable of going any lengths to carry her point. Did you see how she
squared her chin when you and Dee talked her down?" I hadn't seen it,
but I knew full well that when Dum did square her chin she meant
business.
Pan-cakes and all were finally cleared away and the cake was cut, with
many jests and much laughter. Dee got the ring, Annie the piece of money
and Wink the thimble, thereby causing many a merry bit of banter from
his friends. He came very near swallowing it, not expecting to find
anything in his slice of cake as usually, by some miraculous juggling,
the females get the things in the wedding cake.
I had not seen Wink since the night of the hop. He had absented himself
from Willoughby, visiting various friends in Suffolk and on the Eastern
Shore, and only getting back to the camp in time for the wedding. His
absence had been somewhat of a relief to me. I did not know just how he
would behave nor was I certain what my attitude should be. I felt that I
must treat him as though nothing had happened; but if he was going to
show hurt feelings or be silly, I knew I would get embarrassed and
stiff.
I had not had a good look at him until we were seated at the table.
Then, to my dismay, he was placed next to me. I knew it was up to me to
be pleasant, so I waltzed in to be agreeable but not too charming. If
only I could make Wink feel as I did! He looked different, somehow, but
for a moment I could not account for it; and then it suddenly came over
me that Wink was growing a moustache!
I felt like crawling under the table but instead I turned to the
gentleman seated on my other side, no other than the next best man, and
I am sure that Mabel Binks herself could not have got off a greater fire
of small talk than I managed to pour forth. When I told Wink that he
would have to grow a moustache before I could be sure of the state of my
feelings towards him, I was not in real earnest and he might have known
it! I was quite sure at that wedding breakfast what my feelings were:
decided resentment. Why could he not realize that I was nothing but a
little girl who occasionally played lady?
At any rate I was not going to let a little old moustache composed of a
few struggling hairs spoil either my pleasure or my appetite. The next
best man proved to be most agreeable and very easy to talk to, and the
breakfast was good enough to occupy one without conversation had it been
necessary to give your attention only to the matter in hand.
Wink looked rather ruefully at the thimble.
"You'll be darning your own socks 'til Kingdom Come," laughed Sleepy,
glad that the joke for once was not on him. Wink sadly acquiesced, and
then Zebedee kindly added:
"Maybe that means the kind of thimble Wendy gave Peter Pan, Wink. You
remember in that delightful fantasy a thimble was a kiss."
"Well, anyhow, one can't wear a thimble and a mitten at the same time,"
muttered Wink so that no one heard him but me; and to my dying day I
shall hate myself for the way I blushed. It was one of those blushes
that hurt. I had a feeling that even my eyes were red. I had just taken
the first mouthful of a wonderful molded ice: a pair of white
turtle-doves billing and cooing, perched in the heart of a great
raspberry sherbet rose. I choked (it must have been on the billing and
cooing) and the next best man had to beat me in the back until I could
get my breath. I was thankful for the choke and hoped no one had
noticed that my crimson countenance had preceded the accident.
And now the toasts were in order. Everyone had to say something no
matter how bromidic. "Long life and happiness!" "May your shadows never
grow less!" And Dum blurted out: "May you have many more wedding
breakfasts!" which caused a perfect storm of applause, as it sounded
very much as though she meant marriages for the newly wedded couple.
Mary Flannagan got off an impromptu limerick that amused us Gresham
girls very much, because we were well aware of the fact that Miss Cox
was very unconventional in her ideas and always irritated by narrowness
in religion or anything else:
"There was a young lady named Coxy,
Who wished to be married by proxy.
When asked why this wuz,
She said: 'Oh, becuz
I never could stand orthodoxy.'"
Then Wink, who was very clever at everything but growing moustaches,
came back very quickly with:
"The groom then he swore and he cust;
'I hate to begin saying "must,"
But I know my dear Jane
Will surely be sane
And be married in church, or I'll bust.'"
There had been some discussion about where they were to be married, Miss
Cox rather leaning towards going to some friends in Albemarle, but we
had joined Mr. Gordon in talking her out of it.
Zebedee made a wonderful toast master, encouraging the bashful members
of the party with so much tact and kindliness that even the timid Annie
actually got upon her feet and made a very graceful little speech before
she seemed to be aware of the fact that she was really doing it.
Then Sleepy, feeling that if Annie did, he must, too, raised his bulky
form, and very much in the tone of a schoolboy saying his piece, almost
choking with embarrassment, managed to get out the following:
"May joy and happiness be your lot,
As down the path of life you trot."
We expressed ourselves in various ways, but we were all sincere in
wishing well for the Gordons. I, for one, regretted exceedingly that
the one person who had ever made me comprehend mathematics was no longer
to teach me. I dreaded the coming year, certain that I would have a
terrible time with that bug-bear of a subject.
Zebedee's speech was: "There are many kinds of toasts I have always
known, dry toast, milk toast, French toast and buttered toast, and these
may be hot or cold,--but bless me if we haven't more variety of toasts
at this nuptial banquet than were ever dreamed of in my philosophy. One
thing I can assert: No one has offered a dry toast nor proffered a cold
one. Each has been buttered and piping hot, and the best thing I can
wish my two dear friends is that their toast may always be buttered and
piping hot!" And he added feelingly: "May you always eat it together!"
Then Mr. Gordon made a very graceful little concession: he actually
quoted "Alice in the Looking Glass," substituting Jinny for Alice. This
was pretty nice of him, considering that their early and lasting
disagreement had been all because of Lewis Carroll's nonsense verses.
"'Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can,
And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran;
Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea--
And welcome Queen Jinny with thirty-times-three.
"'Then fill up your glasses with treacle and ink,
Or anything else that is pleasant to drink;
Mix sand with the cider and wool with the wine--
And welcome Queen Jinny with ninety-times-nine!'"
Then Miss Cox arose to answer the toast, and one would have supposed it
was some great sonnet in her honour that her new husband had composed,
so graciously did she accept the tribute paid her.
"'O Looking Glass creatures,' quoth Jinny, 'draw near!
'Tis an honour to see me, a favour to hear;
'Tis a privilege high to have dinner and tea
Along with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!'"